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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476210">Your Hand To Hold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance'>Edge_of_Clairvoyance</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Caring Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Dean Winchester, Medical Procedures, POV Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:47:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lucky thing their motel is close to where they ended up ganking the werewolves, because Dean is bleeding pretty bad.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Your Hand To Hold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope everybody is starting their New Year right, and I'll try to add my humble contribution with a new story :)</p><p>Trigger warning for graphic descriptions of injury and medical procedure, and (of course) swearing.</p><p>Thank you Script Doctor for the lines additions, and to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy_to_be_here">happy_to_be_here</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti">ToscaRossetti</a> for the support, feedback and beta!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's a lucky thing their motel is close to where they ended up ganking the werewolves, because Dean is bleeding pretty bad. Sam can't get a good look at the wound, as police sirens are already blasting in the distance and they have to hightail it out of there.</p><p>Sam barely has time to secure a makeshift tourniquet around Dean's thigh before helping him get to the car. Dean is walking on his own, but he leans on Sam and limps in a way Sam doesn't care for one bit. Even so, Dean heads to the driver's side, and Sam steers him away, fearing for a moment he would have to actually wrestle his brother into the passenger seat. But Dean lets himself be deposited there. It doesn't make Sam feel any better.</p><p>Sam is too focused on getting them out of the cops' way to acknowledge Dean being quieter than usual during the drive. But to be honest, it's easier to concentrate on navigating through the unfamiliar streets without Dean's lame jokes to distract him, so Sam makes no attempt to break the silence, not even to coax a sign of life out of his brother.</p><p>Going to the hospital is out of the question, of course, even though Dean would probably have liked the opportunity to flirt with some hot nurse. It doesn't matter; the Winchesters are, for the most part, well-versed in treating their own injuries. Sam parks as close to the room as he can, and grabs the med kit from the trunk on his way around the car to the passenger side.</p><p>He reaches the door just as Dean opens it and swings his legs out onto the blacktop. The bloodstain spreading on the pant leg covers almost all of the shin. Dean pauses where he is, and Sam bends and holds his hand out to him.</p><p>"C'mon, let's get you inside," he says.</p><p>"M'fine," Dean mumbles, but he again leans a little too heavily on his brother as Sam guides him into their room.</p><p>While Dean sprawls on the bed, propped on the pillows, Sam gathers all the towels from the bathroom, and swings through the kitchenette for a bowl of water and a chair. When he gets back to Dean's side, he notices Dean already has his flask out and at his lips.</p><p>"You probably shouldn't," Sam says.</p><p>Dean is in the middle of a long pull; he seems to be going for a new record of emptying the flask before Sam even finishes the sentence. </p><p>"It's for the pain," he says when he finally pauses for air. "Not that it bothers me all that much. But, you know, so you'd be calmer working on me."</p><p>"You're drinking and I end up being calmer? How does that work?"</p><p>"Osmosis."</p><p>"First of all, you mean diffusion. And second, flooding your system with alcohol while you're bleeding out doesn't make me calmer."</p><p>Dean tips the flask over his mouth to catch the last drops and tosses it aside. "Whatever."</p><p>Sam tightens his lips. He was going to give Dean some painkillers, but the flask had been almost full when they set out for the hunt; sedatives aren't such a good idea with the flask's contents surging through Dean's veins. For now, he settles for cutting Dean's pant leg to see what they are dealing with.</p><p>"Shame, this is my favorite pair of jeans," Dean says.</p><p>"You have three identical pairs," Sam retorts.</p><p>Dean snorts. "I thought you'd know your fashion stuff a little better, Samantha."</p><p>"They're ruined anyway," Sam finishes cutting the fabric and carefully peels it away from Dean's leg. He has to use a wet towel to wipe the blood off first - there's too much of it to see the actual wounds. It doesn't help that Dean shifts, almost rolling on his side.</p><p>"Keep still," Sam says, glancing up. Dean salutes him with a bottle he retrieved from the night stand.</p><p>"Need this," he says.</p><p>"No, you don't," Sam rises a little and reaches for the bottle, but Dean knocks it back and manages a sizable gulp before Sam snatches it out of his hand.</p><p>"Damn it, Dean, I can't give you narcotics with that much booze."</p><p>Dean shrugs. "That's okay, the booze tastes better, anyway." He smirks, but upon seeing his brother's expression, holds his hands up. "Sorry, sorry. I'm done, I'll be good."</p><p>Sam watches him with squinted eyes until Dean settles back on the pillows, and then examines his leg.</p><p>The werewolf had done a number on him; the scratches are terrifyingly deep. Sam is almost certain he can see a hint of white inside the gash, and his stomach turns at the thought that he's seeing Dean's bone; but it must be a trick of the light, or a fatty tissue or whatever. Even a werewolf as big as the son of a bitch they killed couldn't have sliced a man's leg <em>that</em> bad.</p><p>Sam isn't sure that regular sutures will hold, and for a moment he rethinks the decision to go to the motel instead of the hospital, especially if Dean is going to insist on being difficult. As if to confirm, he glances up at Dean's face. But his brother is only looking back at him, there isn't anything to hint he might be planning on conjuring another bottle from somewhere.</p><p>Sam turns his attention back to the gashes. They aren't bleeding much thanks to the tourniquet, but they had been bleeding plenty, if Dean's jeans are any indication. Sam peeks at Dean, just to check if his brother looks pale from blood loss. The damned light in the motel room is too dim for him to be sure.</p><p>He starts working on the wounds, cleaning up the rest of the blood and disinfecting them carefully. He brings out the suture kit and looks at Dean.</p><p>"You want some morphine?"</p><p>Dean shakes his head. "For a coupla stitches? Nah, man. Just do it."</p><p>It's nothing out of the ordinary. Dean - and Sam, for that matter - have been through plenty of patching up with little to no painkillers. Sam starts on the biggest gash; the sooner he can get the tourniquet off, the better.</p><p>He focuses completely on the task at hand. Slowly but surely the ugly cut is closed with a row of tight, neat stitches. Maybe he should have pursued medicine instead of law. Too late now, for both.</p><p>With the last stitch in place, Sam pauses to breathe. He isn't surprised to feel sweat on his brow - that damned wound took forever to suture. He wipes his face with his sleeve as he looks up at Dean, and his arm freezes in mid-motion.</p><p>Dean is lying very still, eyes screwed shut, breaths deliberately even and shallow. The fist closest to Sam is gripping the blood-stained bed cover with a white-knuckle grip.</p><p>Sam rises from his chair and leans toward Dean's face. "Dean?"</p><p>"You done?" His brother says in a strained voice.</p><p>"Done with one cut, yeah, but-"</p><p>"Finish the rest of 'em."</p><p>"Seriously? Dean, if you're in pain-"</p><p>"I'm <em>fine</em>," Dean's eyes open to stare at Sam. "You wanna get on with it?"</p><p>Now it's Sam who shakes his head. "No. I'm gonna give you the morphine."</p><p>He barely starts to move when Dean's hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. Sam looks up into Dean's gaze - somewhat hazy with pain, but yet intense.</p><p>"You're right, I've already had one too many and it ain't wise to mix in opiates as well. But it's okay, hunter helper's done its job. I'm half numb, Sammy, really. Just finish it? Please?"</p><p>Sam shouldn't listen, because the wounds are fucking <em>deep </em>and Dean's face is tense in the dreary light, and his brother is in no condition to be making any kind of decisions right now, anyway.</p><p>Except he makes sense and Sam can't ignore it. He glares at Dean for a moment longer, maybe hoping his brother caves, or for a good comeback to come to mind. Neither of these things happen, so Sam only sighs and sits back down.</p><p>Dean releases his grip on Sam's wrist and settles on the pillows. Sam picks up the needle holder and tries to focus on the next gash, not to see how Dean is grabbing the bed cover again, how his lids are squeezing shut a bit tighter.</p><p>He can almost feel Dean wincing when the needle goes in, but it might be just his imagination. Surely the pain from the stitching can't surpass the pain from the injury. And anyway, he can't let it distract him; the sooner he gets this done, the sooner Dean can have some reprieve.</p><p>Not quite as soon as he wishes, though. Sam makes himself work as before: slow, precise, thorough. The sutures he has closed the large gash with are holding - for now - and he tries to maintain the same quality in the stitches he's working on. Needle in, needle out, tie, cut the thread, repeat. Med students should be required to stitch a relative with no anesthesia to learn about emotional detachment. He could put it in the suggestion box next time they're in a teaching hospital.</p><p>The room is completely quiet. Even the wind that had been blowing outside when they came back to the motel seems to have died down. It allows Sam to monitor Dean's breathing - it doesn't sound ragged or too labored. Sam wants to glance up, just once, to see how Dean is doing, but he doesn't; he keeps going. Needle in, needle out, tie, cut, repeat.</p><p>At long last the final suture is secured, and Sam lets out a breath. He applies some antibiotic ointment over the cuts, dresses them in gauze, and finally releases the tourniquet and looks at Dean.</p><p>Dean's face is still pale, but it seems smoother now, more relaxed. His hand is fisted into the bed cover, but not in a death-grip like before. Some weight Sam wasn't aware he was carrying lifts off his chest, and the air in the room becomes more breathable.</p><p>"You okay?" he asks softly. Dean nods. Sam gets up - his legs feel cramped, as if he's been sitting motionless for hours - and puts the medical supplies away.</p><p>"You need to go clean Baby," Dean says.</p><p>Sam turns to the bed; Dean is still lying with his eyes closed.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You need to clean Baby's passenger seat," Dean says. "I bled all over it."</p><p>Sam feels like bursting out laughing. Only Dean would care more about the stains bleeding might leave on his car's upholstery more than about the effects of said bleeding on his own body.</p><p>"I'll get it tomorrow," Sam replies with a faint smile.</p><p>Dean shakes his head. "You need to do it now. Or the stain's gonna set and it's gonna be a bitch to get out." He opens his eyes, and their bright green color makes the circles around them seem even darker. At least they are clear now, with the worst of the pain gone, and stare imploringly at Sam. "I know it was my fault, for being careless and letting myself get hurt and nearly allowing the werewolves to get us. I'm so sorry I put you in danger back there."</p><p>"What are you talking about, Dean? You didn't-"</p><p>Dean shakes his head again. "I did, and I'm sorry, Sammy. You ended up taking care of me, even though it's my job to take care of you. It's my job to take care of Baby, too, but I can't right now. So I'm asking you."</p><p>Now not only does Sam lose all urge to laugh, he feels like crying. But he doesn't. Instead, he clears his throat. </p><p>"Okay," he says. "I'll go clean the car seat. But you have to promise me something."</p><p>"Sure," the relief on Dean's face is obvious.</p><p>"I want you to promise me you'll try to get some sleep. No waiting up for me, okay?"</p><p>Dean blinks and then smiles. The smile wavers a little, but it's warm and earnest. "I promise," he says softly.</p><p>Sam strips the cover off the other bed and spreads it over Dean. Dean looks up at him, the smile still lurking at the corners of his mouth.</p><p>"I can get used to that," he says.</p><p>"No, you can't."</p><p>Dean's grin widens, just the tiniest bit. "You're right, I can't. Any way you can be persuaded to bring me the bottle of Jim Beam from the trunk?"</p><p>Sam has to fight his own smile. "Nope."</p><p>Dean slides deeper under the cover. "Didn't think so. Was worth a shot, though."</p><p>Sam pulls the cover up as Dean settles himself comfortably. He takes a couple of the towels that are still strewn across the foot of Dean's bed and goes to the door. He pauses there, hand on the handle, and glances over his shoulder at his brother.</p><p>Dean is a large lump under the covers, with the tips of his spiky hair poking over the hem. Sam watches the movement of the heap as Dean breathes, slow and regular. He flips the light switch by the door and the room sinks into comfortable gloom.</p><p>Then he heads out, detergent bottle in hand. Spray, soak, scrub, wipe, repeat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Like my works? Want to subscribe and get updates on new stories? Make sure you subscribe to the <b>user</b> and not the specific work!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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